A Question of Heredity
by Rose7
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are confronted with a singular problem- with a number of revelations.
1. Chapter 1

Throughout my years of friendship and partnership with Sherlock Holmes, I have been witness to many surprising features of this extraordinary man. His talents in deduction have of course been recorded in these annals countless times, and his many exploits have been told to the world. On this occasion, however, I find I must tell the singular experience in which Holmes had a few mysteries of his own that I was left to unravel. Once unraveled, however, they proved to be quite fruitful and surprising. While also being an excellent example of his amazing talents, my tale also is an excellent example of the character of the man himself, as well as grounds for some shocking revelations.  
  
Holmes and I were seated in the sitting room on a comfortable Wednesday morning. The weather was fair, the breakfast exceedingly superb, and I was inclined to simply bask in the pleasures of the fine day. Holmes, however, was not exactly keen on my suggestion.  
  
"You are quite a contradictory fellow, Watson." He chuckled after I had been vegetating in my armchair for quite some time. "One morning you beg my accompaniment on a fine walk, another you beg for my atrophy in an armchair."  
  
"Certainly there is no harm in staying here, Holmes. You have no case." I replied evenly. Holmes laughed again.  
  
"I must argue with you upon that score, Watson. I believe I hear the sound of the bell, and our dear Mrs. Hudson greeting the lady that comes to call." I immediately straightened up.  
  
"Why, Watson," Holmes said, standing up to stretch. "You become quite spry when a lady is mentioned." I was ready to retort to his light-hearted teasing when the door opened.  
  
"Doctor Abigail Montand, gentlemen." The lady who stepped into our rooms was of a striking nature. She was quite beautiful, with bright red tresses and piercing green eyes. She was impeccably dressed, and her bearing, the way she held her head up high, showed that she was not a woman to be trifled with. One of the upper class feminists who were comfortable in their place yet strove to achieve equality. And yet the unexpected title of Doctor ultimately dispelled that notion. A woman? A Doctor? I found myself unable to reason anything about her. But Sherlock Holmes was immediately able to discern a good many things about her, as shown from the curious and interested way he gazed at her. Why he hesitated for a moment in silence before addressing her I do not know, but at length he said:  
  
"Welcome madam. I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my associate Doctor Watson. I see you share a profession." She smiled graciously at me.  
  
"Indeed we do, though I highly doubt that your career parallels mine. I'm a retired army surgeon."  
  
"While you, Miss Montand, conduct your practice in Gravesend?" The lady raised her eyebrow at my friend.  
  
"You are quite correct Mr. Holmes. How did you come to know that?" From my friend's wry smile, I could see that he was favorably impressed with the manner and bearing of this woman, which was quite something from his misogynist attitude towards the fair sex. He waved his hand in a flippant manner.  
  
"Mere analysis, madam. From your complexion, one can see that you are used to long and frequent walks along sun-lit roads. One can further see that the roads in question are in Gravesend. The dark soil upon your shoes is quite distinctive." We seated ourselves, and Holmes chuckled lightly to himself.  
  
"If I really wished to amaze you, I would tell you that you write heavily in a study day after day, garner quite a bit of money and influence from your practice, and have a son who plays the piano." At Holmes' last words the lady's face fell, shifting from that of a charming debutante to that of a concerned woman.  
  
"It is my son which brings me here today, Mr. Holmes." At this Holmes sat up in his seat, his eyes scrutinizing.  
  
"What do you mean, madam?" I inquired.  
  
"My fifteen year old son, gentlemen, has gone missing." She said cautiously, as if she expected some great reaction out of one of us. Holmes frowned.  
  
"Why do you come to me three days after his appearance? I fear that places a very serious handicap upon your case!" His voice was stern and angry, and I eyed him disapprovingly.  
  
"The train ticket I see in your hand, madam, is 3 days old. Ergo, you have been in London at the very least three days, and yet today you come to me." While I was amazed at his deductions, I thought surely he could be more the suave, professional he was known to be in such matters. The Doctor did not seem to notice his fantastic deduction however, and stood her ground.  
  
"My son is adventurous, Mr. Holmes, and at times foolhardy. There were many easily explainable situations he could have placed himself in, and I did not wish to be over hasty. I have made my own inquiries into his disappearance, and, having come up short, I have come to you." Her voice was as cool as ice, challenging, almost daring Holmes to reply. He sighed, settling back into his chair.  
  
"Perhaps, madam, you might furnish us with your life leading up to your son's appearance." I said, trying to ease the tension in the room. She nodded.  
  
"My name then, as you have heard in Doctor Abigail Montand. I prefer my title, for I worked long and hard to attain it."  
  
"Surely Madam, such a feat was championed by your illustrious family name. The Montands are out of London's highest circles, I believe?" Holmes murmured.  
  
"They are, however my ambitions were not kindly accepted. I am afraid I was quite disowned before my father died."  
  
"And your mother?"  
  
"She died at my birth, and my father not very long after. My elder sister inherited the estate, and I was left to my studies." Holmes nodded, almost in a disinterested manner, as if he had heard all the information before.  
  
"Where did you study, Doctor?"  
  
"I managed to ease my way into Cambridge, and even after all my dedicated years of study, they waited almost a year after to award my degree to me. When my dear uncle died about the same time, he left his estate in Gravesend to me, and it was there in which I set up my practice. It was hard going at first. Most of the neighborhood carried the same view of the world; that a woman simply could not be a competent Doctor. However, at length I was accepted, and now enjoy a tidy practice."  
  
"That's most commendable." Indeed it was no easy feat she had mastered. But I realized that the lady before me was anything but ordinary. Holmes' eyes opened, looking thoughtful for a moment. They then rested about the Doctor, bright and mischievous.  
  
"And your son?"  
  
"My son's name is John. And as you have said he is an-"  
  
"No no, his attributes may come later. I was inquiring as to how he was born." The lady drew herself up, glaring at Holmes murderously.  
  
"That sir, is a highly impertinent question."  
  
"If I am to find the boy, Doctor Montand, I must not be ignorant to his past." She sighed; an angry, passionate glare still fixed on Holmes.  
  
"His father was a very loathsome creature. Our marriage was not a happy one."  
  
"Perhaps it is he who has-" The lady interrupted my statement with a shake of her head.  
  
"No Doctor. John's father is dead, having drunken himself into an early grave. The boy has no recollection of him and hopefully will never follow in his footsteps."  
  
"My condolences." I murmured uncertainly. The lady scoffed, smiling softly.  
  
"Not at all doctor. Quite honestly I am glad to be rid of the man. He played so small a part in my life that I was loath to mention him." Holmes' eyebrow raised and he stared at the Doctor. She met his gaze equally. Finally, with a small laugh, she settled into his chair again.  
  
"You have made your position quite clear to me. Pray proceed to your tale of his disappearance."  
  
"I fear I have little to give you, Mr. Holmes. It was on Tuesday evening that I discovered his absence. I had just returned from my rounds and entered the house. He did not respond to my calls. I went to his room and found it to be locked. I opened it with my key. The room was entirely empty. All the windows were fastened and shut. I then made a thorough search of the house and asked the housekeeper after him. She reported nothing, and I could not find any trace of him. As I began to think on my son's disposition, I realized that perhaps it was not as malicious as my mind was imagining it to be."  
  
"And what is your son's disposition?"  
  
"John is young, but mature and very intelligent. He makes very reasonable decisions and never does anything without a definite reason. However, at times he is, as I have said, headstrong and foolhardy. He often disappears without an explanation and returns to my scolding without a hair out of place." I laughed.  
  
"Sounds like you Holmes." For a moment, Holmes stared at me. His expression was something I could not quite put my finger on- perhaps, alarm? No that could not be it. Finally, he laughed softly.  
  
"Well this does present a good many features of interest. Did the boy have any letters? Friends, family, anything?" For a moment the lady hesitated, her green eyes downcast to the floor.  
  
"Anything at all can help, Doctor." I said gently. She raised her head, staring at Holmes almost suspiciously.  
  
"No sir. He receives no letters."  
  
"And had you any callers whilst you were away on your rounds? Patients, anyone?" She shook her head pitifully, and I could see that, despite this lady's strong accomplishments, her bravery and her tenacity, she was a mother who loved her son dearly, and his disappearance was taking its toll on her. Even now, I could see the barely suppressed worry in her eyes, and her frowning countenance showed that this was not her natural state. She seemed a woman unaccustomed to black moods, and the downward turn her lips made was hardly the smiles they seemed used to. Holmes sighed, and he leaned forward, giving her a suave, reassuring smile.  
  
"Have no fears madam. We shall surely find him." The look of relief that passed over her face was wonderful.  
  
"You will help me then?" Holmes' face instantly became outraged. Shock, dismay, and surprise seemed to flare up in them. For what reason I had no idea.  
  
"Holmes?" He either did not hear me or ignored my comment, for his angry response to her was barely veiled with calmness.  
  
"Why, madam, of course I shall. Why on earth would I not?" For the first time, Doctor Montand's head bowed, in concession and acquiescence.  
  
"Forgive me. I had not though such a small problem would even be noticed by such an eminent man." Although she appeared to concede, her tone hardly matched her face. She said her apology in a voice of sarcasm and justification. Holmes drew himself up, clearing his throat.  
  
"Not at all, madam. You may return to Gravesend now, and the good Doctor and I shall call upon you in an hour or so, hopefully to solve this little mystery." She nodded and rose.  
  
"Until the afternoon then, gentlemen."  
  
"Goodbye Doctor." I murmured, staring after her as she left the room.  
  
"Farewell, madam." Holmes muttered before seating himself back into his chair with a sigh. I was nothing but perplexed. Holmes' reactions had been so inexplicable, so strange. And the lady's even more so. But I reasoned, there were logical explanations for both. The lady's I could put down to her agitated state. Holmes' I could put down to his own strange nature. And so I wiped any contrary ideas from my mind, and sat myself down next to him.  
  
"Well Holmes. Seems a very murky business."  
  
"Indeed, Watson. It does have intriguing qualities." He murmured unceremoniously. Whilst I could explain everything else, I could not explain his manner towards the case. It seemed as though the case really did not interest him, as though the details of it were not as interesting as he had said them to be. It was as if he had another reason for taking on the case. But what other reason could there be? While my mind struggled over it, Holmes interrupted me with his thoughts.  
  
"It is interesting how the boy seems to have vanished into thin air."  
  
"Yes. All the windows and doors fastened? What could have happened to him?"  
  
"I know not Watson. However, if you will be so good as to check the times of the train and ring for a cab, we shall soon find out.". 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for your kind reviews! I work on a system: 1 review = 1 new chapter!  
  
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Holmes was silent on our train journey to Gravesend. He stared out the window, his brows knitted and arms folded over his chest as if in deep consternation. I attempted to engage him in conversation, but my efforts were wholly futile, and I finally left Holmes to himself. Once we arrived at our destination, we made our way to the home of Doctor Montand. It was set off a ways apart from the center of Gravesend, down a suburban row of trees and quaint cottages. At once the home impressed me at the undeniable apex of the town. It was a large brick affair with all the appearance of an upper class home, but the air of the place was relaxed, almost like one's home although one had never visited. Holmes and I approached and rang the bell. The woman who answered was not Doctor Montand.  
  
"May I help you gentlemen?"  
  
"Good morning, madam." Holmes said, bowing formally. "I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and-"  
  
"I know quite well who you are, Mr. Holmes." The lady replied sharply. The wrinkles in her old face seemed much more severe with the impeccable gray bun atop her head, and even more so when coupled by the disapproving frown she was giving Holmes. Her reply intrigued me. Where in Holmes' past did this woman figure in? However, Holmes cast a sideways glance in my direction, and not an entirely favorable one. I reasoned that apparently my tales of Holmes' exploits reached far and wide, and perhaps too many knew my friend simply based on my narratives.  
  
That must be it.  
  
"Then I fear you have a disadvantage over me, madam." Holmes replied, staring pointedly at the lady.  
  
"And I am Doctor John Watson, Mr. Holmes' colleague." I quickly interjected. The woman nodded curtly at me.  
  
"I am Mrs. Sotheby, the housekeeper. I assume you are not here for a medical problem?"  
  
"We are here at Doctor Montand's request to investigate the disappearance of her son." Holmes said. Mrs. Sotheby's face immediately made a complete change, from that of a strict guardian to a concerned, tired friend.  
  
"Yes of course, sir. I shall show you in." We followed the housekeeper into the home. The front room, which was right off of the large foyer we were ushered into, afforded an excellent view of the road leading up to the house. It appeared to be where most of the living in the house was conducted. Personal effects and medical instruments were lying haphazardly about the room, and a massive desk near the window was strewn with papers and documents.  
  
"Doctor Montand is with a patient at the moment, gentlemen, but she will be with you presently."  
  
"Just a moment, Mrs. Sotheby." Holmes murmured, gazing about the room as if it were a museum exhibit.  
  
"Your mistress has already given me the facts of the case as it stands. Can you add anything more to it?" The housekeeper sighed, wringing her hands.  
  
"It was the greatest shock of my life, sir, when we found that young John had gone missing. He runs off often enough, but he always returns. When Doctor Montand herself finally gave up hope, I knew it was no idle wandering."  
  
"When did you discover his disappearance, madam?" I asked.  
  
"Just 3 days ago, Doctor. I thought at first he may have locked himself in his room, but when we opened it and found he wasn't in it, even Doctor Montand was at a loss for explanation. She hurried straightaway to London, going to every place she could think of him possibly being."  
  
"Have you any idea of where he may have gone, if indeed he has left of his own free will?" Holmes said, picking up various items around the room and inspecting them.  
  
"Until this morning I thought perhaps he had gone off to London to see you, sir."  
  
"To see Mr. Holmes, madam?" I inquired. Why on earth would the boy seek out Holmes? He certainly could have no case for him, and no attachment to Holmes in the slightest.  
  
"Why, yes, Doctor Watson." Mrs. Sotheby replied, a strange look of confusion coming over her face. "It seemed the only other place he might-"  
  
"Well gentlemen." Doctor Montand walked briskly into the room, interrupting her housekeeper. She was rolling down her sleeves, obviously just finished with an examination.  
  
"You are a trifle early."  
  
"Excuse me, Doctor, but Mrs. Sotheby was just-"I began, not wanting to lose this perhaps important detail.  
  
"Ah yes. Thank you, Mrs. Sotheby, that will be all." The lady said curtly. I turned to glance at Holmes, perhaps for his assistance in not allowing this clue to be overlooked. But Holmes seemed entirely oblivious to what Mrs. Sotheby had said, indeed, was completely ignoring it even. The housekeeper gave a slight nod and exited the room.  
  
"I have no doubt, " Doctor Montand said, crossing to Holmes and taking the stethoscope he was examining idly, replacing it upon her desk. "That you wish to make a thorough inspection of my son's room and the area surrounding it?" Holmes straightened up.  
  
"Of course, madam. Please, lead the way." Doctor Montand turned, quick and direct. Suspicions again began to play at the corners of my mind. How could the boy know Holmes or have possibly fled to him? Why did both Holmes ignore this thought? I determined I would get the answer to this question before the case was ended.  
  
"Holmes, about what that housekeeper said-"  
  
"Pay it no heed, Watson. I've no doubt that it's simply a mixture of stress and your lurid tales that are feeding that woman's imagination." Holmes replied simply. I sighed at being put off so efficiently. Doctor Montand opened the boy's room with her key.  
  
"Why have you kept it locked, Doctor?" I asked.  
  
"I have not ruled out the possibility that my son's disappearance may not have been of his own doing, Doctor Watson. Many strangers enter this house throughout the day, and I did not want to risk the chance of perhaps important details being disturbed." The lady replied. It was quite an amount of foresight, but then again this lady had already surprised me beyond quite a few measures.  
  
"You believe it may have been one of your patients then?" Holmes said, glancing at Doctor Montand and pausing in the doorway.  
  
"I do not suspect any of my regular patients. There may be those who are not as fond of me however, that I would not entirely rule out." At this last sentence she stared at Holmes with that same suspicious glance as she had back in Baker Street, as if he was somehow to blame for her son's disappearance. Holmes ignored it however, and began his inspection of the room. It was a normal enough room, save for the fact that it looked as though it was rarely used, perhaps for sleeping and little else. The window had a layer of dust on its edges, perhaps meaning that it had not been opened for a good while. Holmes stared at it.  
  
"You say this window was fastened and shut?" The lady raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You can see that for yourself sir. It is still fastened and shut." Holmes smirked.  
  
"Then I fear madam, you may have made a mistake. This window has been opened recently. Look, here on the sill." Both the Doctor and I moved to inspect. Indeed, barely noticeable but there all the same, within the layer of dust there were unmistakable fingerprints.  
  
"Whether young John has left of his own will or not, it was out of this window that he exited." Holmes said, almost smugly. The Doctor narrowed her eyes.  
  
"Yes Mr. Holmes. Now we are aware of how he has left the house. I am a bit more concerned with where he is and why he is there." Holmes frowned.  
  
"Details, Doctor Montand, are how we shall discover that. If you did not believe in my methods, you ought not to have sought my help." The Doctor looked as though she wished to retort but instead said nothing. Holmes then led us out of the room and out of the house to inspect the grounds outside the boy's window. The outside of the house was layered in a thick trellis of ivy.  
  
"Could the boy have climbed down this ivy?" I asked as Holmes pulled on the layers, testing their strength. The lady shrugged.  
  
"I have never attempted it, but I suppose it could be done." For a moment I began to laugh, but one look at her serious face told me that the lady scaling a wall of ivy was perhaps not as preposterous a suggestion as I took it to be.  
  
"He was carried down the ivy. Or pulled off of it." Holmes muttered.  
  
"And why do you say that, Holmes?"  
  
"There is, no doubt, an unmistakable trail of broken leaves and ripped stems leading from the boy's window and down to the ground. But in several places away from the trail, great patches of ivy have been ripped from the wall, showing perhaps that the boy attempted to leap to another section to elude his kidnappers." I followed Holmes' eyes to each section of the great mass of ivy. The ground below them, however was clear, devoid of any of the broken leaves or stems Holmes spoke of.  
  
"To the casual observer, one would have never noticed. Without any evidence on the ground, one hardly inspects the wall above it." Doctor Montand said defensively, perhaps in response to the look Holmes was giving her. It was almost disappointment, as he expected more and was quite let down.  
  
"Well, madam, I believe there is little else to be learned from your home. I have two other paths I wish to follow, and I believe that I shall send you upon one of them, Watson." I straightened up. Holmes trusting me to do the detective work was an occasion that seldom occurred, and when it did, I was eager to live up to his expectations.  
  
"And what would that be, Holmes?"  
  
"You are to go into town and ask after John Montand, Watson. Find out if the boy had any recent skirmishes, entanglements, and the like. I doubt the townspeople will give you much trouble when they discover that the boy is missing." I nodded. We all three walked back to the house, Doctor Montand and Holmes going into the lady's study, and I in the foyer, retrieving my hat and coat. Although the lady believed her door to be firmly shut, it was slightly ajar, and I could make out distinct parts of their conversation.  
  
".That, Doctor, is hardly the point of this visit." Holmes' sharp voice came through, but I was unable to make out what the lady had said beforehand.  
  
".rather I told him the truth?" Came heatedly from Doctor Montand. Their conversation suddenly became hushed, as if they realized that I was on tiptoes, straining to hear. I sighed. There was more mystery in the victims and detectives in this case than in the mystery itself. I made my way into the town, determined that before it was all over, I would discover what connection Doctor Montand and her missing son had to Holmes. 


	3. Chapter 3

Perhaps for some of you the "mystery" is a bit simplistic. Perhaps you'll be pleasantly surprised! (  
  
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"Well Watson, you've finished quite rapidly. Hopefully you were quite thorough as well." I turned to see Sherlock Holmes coming towards me, his sardonic grin prevalent upon his face.  
  
"Ah Holmes. I don't think you will be unimpressed with what I have found out. I have much to tell you." He sighed.  
  
"And I you, Watson." We turned and went towards the house. I had spent the majority of the day within the city of Gravesend, visiting local shops and areas I thought young John Montand might have occupied. I was constantly followed by the sting of Holmes' rebuttals of my earlier detective work, and I was determined that this time he would not have room for criticism. Needless to say I was quite exhausted by the end of it, but I did not believe that my work had been fruitless. I had found out a good many things about the missing boy and had many trails I believed Holmes would be interested in.  
  
"Watson?" Holmes' inquiry brought me out of my thoughts.  
  
"I'm sorry, I was just pondering. Miss Montand-"  
  
"Doctor Montand."  
  
"Yes, Doctor, excuse me. I was just thinking that she is an uncommonly talented woman."  
  
"Yes, that she is, Watson, that she is."  
  
"High praise, coming from you Holmes." He smiled.  
  
"I am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind."  
  
"Not even a half-souled one."  
  
"Perhaps not, but I do admit she is a more determined and original sort than the run of the mill female." I laughed.  
  
"Well, a concession anyhow. A lovely woman as well." Holmes groaned.  
  
"Wonderful Watson, I knew I could depend upon you to notice that. Have you not also noticed that the more lovely and beautiful a woman is, the more untrustworthy and devious she can be?"  
  
"Oh Holmes, honestly-"  
  
"What did you manage to learn from your day in Gravesend?"  
  
"Well, aside from the general impressions in the village of young John Montand, being an honorable, good-natured fellow with not a false word for anyone-"  
  
"Yes, yes, Watson; did he have any enemies? Any falling outs, any entanglements?" Holmes interrupted impatiently. I narrowed my eyes. I was becoming puzzled over Holmes' avoidance of certain facts which I found to be relevant. Did he not often say that all details were of interest to him? And yet today he had blatantly ignored quite a few of them.  
  
"As far as I could tell, not a one. He is a generally amiable boy whom everyone likes. Although, as Doctor Montand herself has said, he is apt to run off into places he should not."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"Well, he rambles about the neighborhood in all his spare time. While being very amiable, he is also daring and determined. Some men I met described him as "knowing too much". And, strangely enough." I trailed off. The description of young John Montand was suspiciously familiar. I had heard it often enough, about Holmes himself. How could the young man be so talented?  
  
"Strangely enough what? Come now Watson, don't leave your listener in suspense." He said impatiently.  
  
"Some of the residents described him as a mind reader, that he can tell things about any one of them that they had never told him. However, he never explains just how he knows their personal matters, just says them." Holmes smirked to himself.  
  
"I suppose it stems from his idolization of you, Holmes. Much like that Stanley Hopkins. Some gentlemen in the village said that the boy is an avid reader of the Strand and models himself on you." This could be the only explanation. Of course, perhaps the boy's age was helping to fuel his talents into mythic proportion. I have often noticed that the younger a person with talent is, the more likely society is to make him into a prodigy. Perhaps he was merely an observant boy. Holmes sighed, giving me his sardonic grin.  
  
"I'm afraid, Watson, that there is a much more elementary reason to that young man's talents than meets the eye." I looked at him.  
  
"Whatever do you mean Holmes?"  
  
"Come Watson. Let us walk about the grounds." I followed him dutifully. Sherlock Holmes paced about the groves of trees on the grounds, his gray eyes surveying everything. He was silent for a few moments, and at length I interrupted.  
  
"Holmes, what is it? If you don't mind my saying so, you've been in a rather strange humor throughout this entire business. Come on old man, what is it about this case that's affecting you so?" He turned.  
  
"First Watson, I must apologize." Apologize? The great Sherlock Holmes, seeking my apology? Such an event was quite rare, and I nearly laughed at the occurrence.  
  
"Apologize? For what?"  
  
"I have not told you the truth, Watson, and upon the beginning of this case, I've realized that I can hide it no more." Now I had to laugh. This sounded utterly absurd coming from Holmes' lips.  
  
"Holmes, what on earth-" But I was silenced by his serious and unflinching face.  
  
"I'm sorry." He was silent for a moment. My mind was buzzing with a hundred questions. Whatever did Holmes have to tell me? Why was he so grave? I could not possibly comprehend it.  
  
"My friend, you have never been so frank. Please tell me what it is." Still Holmes was hesitant.  
  
"Does.could it possibly have to do with Doctor Montand and her son?" At this he looked up, his eyes steely.  
  
"Yes, Watson it does."  
  
"You have known them before her consulting you, haven't you?"  
  
"Yes, I have." I seated myself upon a nearby bench, contemplating the revelation I had just heard. I had, of course, seen Holmes' strange actions: his seeming to know everything about the lady without explaining his methods as he usually did, and his strange quivers of laughter at the most inopportune times. However, Holmes having met the lady and her missing son beforehand was no great secret that would make it necessary for Holmes to conceal it. And yet I could recall that, when Doctor Montand had first come to our rooms, she had acted as if she had been meeting us for the very first time, going so far as to retell Holmes (who had presumably known it all beforehand) her occupation, name, and history. These things did not seem to come together, as Holmes' strange secrets usually did.  
  
"Holmes, I don't see how that is such a grave secret-" Holmes held up his hand, silencing my protest.  
  
"My dear fellow, there is much more to the secret, I assure you." His voice was resigned and stoic and I could see immediately that it was quite a thing for him to share this part of his life, which had obviously been his own for a very long time.  
  
"Well then? Under what circumstances did you know Miss Montand before her coming to consult you?"  
  
"First Doctor, let me remind you that it is Doctor Montand, not Miss, and Doctor Montand is not a lady. I have never seen her as such and she has never wished to be so."  
  
"Holmes! That is going a little-"  
  
"She will be acknowledged only in terms of her intellectual abilities, Watson."  
  
"Which are?"  
  
"If there ever was an equal to me, Watson, Doctor Montand is about as close as nature can provide." I was speechless for a moment. Thoughts of Mary, my late wife, thoughts of the late Irene Adler, the woman who had bested Holmes- was it possible, that, just maybe-  
  
"My dear Holmes, I-" Holmes frowned at me.  
  
"Please, Watson, spare me your congratulations upon finding a romantic interest. I assure you I have none and shall never have one and there is none of your lurid intrigues in my tale." I sighed impatiently.  
  
"Then pray, Holmes, tell me the tale."  
  
"When I first met Doctor Montand, I was a student at Cambridge. In her pursuit of her medical degree, and her ambitious notions of becoming a specialist in every field related to it, she did attend a number of chemistry and common classes and lectures as myself. This is where I first met her." He paused, his gray eyes hazy for a moment, as if recalling some far off distant memory.  
  
"If you can picture it, Watson, in your mind, imagine a room full of young gentlemen, ready to carry out chemical researches, all in the plainest of clothes, the most complacent surroundings, the most common of all minds conglomerated into one room. And then enters.a mind ultimately superior to everyone else's, a talent and intellect hardly rivaled by all of them put together, with no ordinary manner and no commonplace appearance." For a moment I was repelled by Holmes' egotism. It was one of his only faults; seeing himself as a man among men, higher than any other-  
  
"If you can picture it, Watson, that was precisely the moment that Doctor Montand entered the classroom." My mind could hardly comprehend that the words were Holmes'. Never had he uttered a positive word about women. Not even the late Irene Adler had he complimented so much in a single memory.  
  
"And I had thought you a born misogynist-"  
  
"As I have intoned Watson, and I shall remind you again, Doctor Montand's gender has not a thing to do with the matter. I was as impressed with her as I would be with any fellow." He said sharply.  
  
"Holmes, again, I do not see the reason for you to hide this from anyone. If this is your great and damnable secret, I advise you not to torture yourself with trying to cover it up any longer." Holmes sighed, exasperated. No doubt my words were by now repetitious and bothersome, but I even now I could not see the reason for his deception.  
  
"May I finish the tale before you begin romanticizing it for your readers?" He said.  
  
"Damn it all, Holmes, I am attempting to listen to you, but you aren't making any sense! The lady was your acquaintance at university; this is of little surprise. What I want to know is why you both act as though you have never seen each other before and how all of this relates to the lady's son." I snapped back.  
  
"Watson." He trailed off.  
  
"I suppose," He began in a low voice, "that, as with so many other things in life, this must be given the direct approach. There is no simpler way to explain other than to state the facts." Sherlock Holmes then turned to me, his gray eyes sharp, calculating and direct. In a calm, eerily flat and penetrating voice, he spoke:  
  
"Young John Montand's abilities are not mere worship of an idol, Watson. They are, in fact, hereditary." For a moment I was stunned. Hereditary?  
  
"What?"  
  
"I am John Montand's father." My eyes grew wide- "And Abigail Montand's husband." 


	4. Chapter 4

For a moment, I thought perhaps my lungs would burst from my chest, my eyes detach from my head, and my balance would fell me unconscious. Was what I had just heard true? Could it possibly be true? But it had to be true, I reasoned. Holmes would never invent such a tale. But Sherlock Holmes, the great detective- a cold, calculating machine, without regard for the emotions of life, with nothing but contempt for love and affection, the greatest misogynist mankind would ever create- a husband and father? I could not comprehend this. Everything I had believed him to be, everything I had known of him for many years- all seemed to disappear and be uprooted from this one startling and shocking revelation.  
  
"Watson." I finally looked at him. I realized that I had been silent for a good many moments. Sherlock Holmes stood before me, his hands clasped behind his back, his face undaunted and stoic, and his gray eyes direct and fearless. He was not expectant, nor emotionless. He was calm and patient.  
  
"Holmes." I trailed off. This part of his life held so many questions. He had never told anyone- why? I was his closest friend, his only confidant. My anger, which was hardly ever present, suddenly burned with a bitter blaze against my friend.  
  
"Why did you not tell me?" My voice betrayed the hurt and anger I felt.  
  
"Because it is not a very.virtuous part of my life." Holmes murmured, not ashamed, but perhaps regrettable.  
  
"Not virtuous? Why, Holmes, to be a father.that is the greatest virtue one can have! And a wife, a wife such as Doctor Montand. We have known each other for so long Holmes! Why did you not tell me?" I had stood now, and my voice positively shook with my feelings.  
  
"Watson." he said sharply, wistfully.  
  
"You cannot pass judgment upon me until you have heard the entire tale." I sighed. I could not allow my anger to vent itself upon Holmes. He was an honorable and trustworthy fellow. He would never betray me, nor anyone else he deemed worthy. There must have been very compelling reasons for his secrecy. I reseated myself back on the bench.  
  
"Then please, Holmes, finish your tale that I might better understand you and your motives." Holmes leaned back against a tree, his arms folded and his gray eyes staring upwards at its branches, as if his tale was to be recited from among them.  
  
"As I have said, Doctor Montand has a superior intellect. Deduction and perceptiveness are nothing new to her, even though she does not choose to employ them. It was this intellect, and only this intellect," He intoned, casting a sharp glance my way. "Which intrigued me."  
  
"Naturally. I assume you knew no one with your particular talents, exempting your brother." Holmes nodded.  
  
"Exactly. And therefore, such another talented person was a masterful challenge."  
  
"A challenge?"  
  
"A battle of wits, Watson, such as is hardly matched and rarely seen." His face seemed to get brighter at the memory of this "battle of wits".  
  
"Every word between us was a fight, a battle to the bitter end. Every word had to be calculated, every slight breath deduced, every movement analyzed. It was delicious, Watson. I have always held that, in part, my abilities were honed and sharpened during our exchanges." I struggled to think of it as no more than an exciting game of chess to Holmes, as opposed to the romantic attraction it seemed to symbolize to me.  
  
"We were not frequent companions, nor did we avoid each other. When we were together, we sought to better ourselves through being sparring partners, as it were. I was evenly matched on every score; courage, determination, tenacity, and blatant disregard for the common societal concerns of most other university students."  
  
"Well, she intrigued you then. However did a few intelligent conversations translate to a marriage and a son?" I interjected. Holmes' eyes downcast to the ground.  
  
"We began an experiment." He muttered darkly.  
  
"An experiment?"  
  
"Aside from similar abilities, Doctor Montand and I had similar goals. She sought to learn everything about the world she could to better aid her patients. I sought to learn everything I could to better understand the criminal mind and motivation."  
  
"What a fool I was." He added in disgust. For a moment I took in the idea of Sherlock Holmes being disgusted with his actions. It was a new idea, one that I never thought I would see. Holmes was not a man for regrets.  
  
"Where is the foolishness in that?" I finally said.  
  
"I sought to learn by any means necessary." He finished.  
  
"Are you saying your marriage is an experiment?" I said incredulously. Holmes shook his head.  
  
"No, no Watson. I was a fool, but not an imbecile in my youth. We began an experiment in how attraction would influence a person's mind." I struggled to think of what this might entail. My mind came up with several possibilities, each more unlikely than the last. I still could not shake my belief that somehow, affection between the two had to play some kind of role. I could not bring myself to believe that Holmes saw the lady as nothing more than a test tube and could not even fathom the lady seeing Holmes as a mere whim.  
  
"You must have developed some sort of regard for each other then."  
  
"Disguise, in physical form or otherwise, is nothing new to me Watson. Doctor Montand despises prevarication, but was willing to lie for the sake of education."  
  
"So you both acted as if you had a regard for each other? How does that show how it would affect your actions?"  
  
"Deduction, Watson. If we put ourselves into the situation, our minds could filter through every possible action, testing it for likelihood and probability."  
  
"That is almost grotesque, Holmes! Haven't you any care for what Doctor Montand felt?" Holmes sighed, exasperated.  
  
"I tell you again, Watson, stop thinking of Doctor Montand as some wilting feminine flower that requires your every attention! She is as stalwart as the most resilient of men and as practical and logical as the best of them. She feels nothing for me as I feel nothing for her." Even though this story was farfetched to anyone but Holmes, my mind was still concentrated on one subject: How had Holmes and Doctor Montand eventually married and produced a son? I could not possibly comprehend THAT as an experiment, and I could not conceivably see Doctor Montand, who, despite Holmes' insistence that she was not a normal woman, was a devoted mother and would not, under any circumstances, bring a child into the world who would not have a loving family.  
  
"Where does the marriage come in, Holmes? You say it is not an experiment. Then is it of your own free will? And how does John Montand, your son, factor into all this?"  
  
"One experiment led to another, Watson. An even more fool idea than the first." Holmes walked over to sit beside me, rubbing his neck ruefully.  
  
"Which was?"  
  
"5 bottles of port." He muttered, almost so low I could not hear.  
  
"What?"  
  
"An experiment involving myself, Doctor Montand, and 5 bottles of port." He said slowly, but clear this time, sitting up as if he had decided that he was no longer hesitant to tell me.  
  
"What was the premise?" Holmes thought for a moment.  
  
"I believe it is sufficient enough to say that John is the result of this experiment." For a moment I again thought I would stagger back in disbelief. Holmes, who rarely drank and when he did was not affected in the slightest, and Doctor Montand, a decorous and intelligent woman, intoxicated beyond sensibilities, without any intention produced a son? A startling thought came to mind.  
  
"Do you mean to say you were not married to her?" I said incredulously. Holmes nodded. I leapt up.  
  
"Holmes, that's deplorable!" Holmes smirked.  
  
"The experiment or the fact that it was not conducted consciously or within the confines of wedlock? My dear Watson, if you honestly believed I married out of affection or regard, you are utterly mistaken."  
  
"So you are married merely because of your son?" He nodded again.  
  
"Nothing else would possibly have induced me down that road, I assure you."  
  
"I thought you did not care for what society thought of you." I snapped, unable to think of anything else to say.  
  
"I do not in the slightest; however, the rest of England does. Both Doctor Montand and I were ambitious. It would not do us nor John any harm if our names were legally joined on a piece of registry paper." He sounded so light, so casual, as if it all meant nothing more to him, and I was repulsed by what I saw as callousness.  
  
"But what kind of life was that for Doctor Montand and her son? You have not lived with her at all, and if you have visited, it must be before you made my acquaintance or in the ridiculously late hours of the night."  
  
"After we conducted the courtroom ceremony, Doctor Montand and I parted ways. I did not even know I had a son until he was about the age of 8."  
  
"Holmes! To have- For Doctor Montand to have borne a child- And you to have abandoned her!" I sputtered. My heart was torn. Half of me knew Holmes as a just, fair, righteous individual, my dear friend. The other half of me was ready to denounce him as an audacious cad.  
  
"I most certainly did not abandon Doctor Montand." Holmes said, rising, slightly insulted. "It is impossible to 'abandon' the lady, for she needs nothing and no one to survive. I assure you she neither needed nor desired my help in any way. She informed me of a child, asked my advice, and we followed it to the letter. I did no more than she requested of me. Anything more would be an insult to her self-sufficiency and a waste of my time."  
  
"What about your son then? What about abandoning him?" I yelled, aware of how heated my voice had become.  
  
"Abandon my son?" Holmes snarled in surprise, perhaps even more insulted that I would accuse him of such a thing.  
  
"After 8 years, I became curious as to what had become of Doctor Montand and her child. I sought them out and finally met young John. To my astonishment, the young lad deduced exactly who I was and furthermore, my relationship to him. Since then not a week has gone by that I have not visited the boy."  
  
"And now he is missing." He finished in a sentence that stopped his tirade short, and he leaned one arm against a tree, steely gray eyes staring off into the distance. I too had run out of momentum. I no longer could accuse him of anything. It was foolish to expect Sherlock Holmes to have followed the traditional thinking of society, and foolish to think that his reasons for marrying or having a son would be anything like I would imagine. He had acted no differently than in his usual Holmes- like fashion would dictate, and as I thought back, as long as what he said about the lady's own opinions were true, I could see no true fault in his actions. Morally surprising and questionable certainly, but not any fault in the eyes of God.  
  
"Now that I know the truth, Holmes," I said softly. "I am certain we shall find him." Holmes glanced up at me.  
  
"I am sorry I did not tell you sooner, Watson." I waved a hand at him.  
  
"You've told me now, which is far better than never." Holmes straightened up.  
  
"I doubted you would find anything in the way of entanglements. One thing John has not inherited from me is a temper. He is far more patient and amiable than I could ever wish to be."  
  
"Do you believe he was carried off rather than gone of his own free will?"  
  
"It is more probable that he was forced to go somewhere rather than forcibly taken there. Who would do such a thing I do not know."  
  
"Well quite obviously one of your enemies, Holmes. Wouldn't that be logical?"  
  
"It would serve no purpose for my enemies, Watson." Holmes said, starting back towards the house.  
  
"Why ever not?"  
  
"Because he is John Montand, not John Holmes. Not yet, anyways."  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
I try to follow Holmes and Watson as best I can- I don't trust the fan fics where Holmes falls in love with some woman- love is contradictory to his nature and declaring it as thus even more so. If he did love he wouldn't recognize it until it had taken him over, and if he did act on it, it wouldn't be in conventional methods. I don't know if love will factor into my stories, but in the terms of marriage and a son, I could only see once conceivable way of Holmes willingly having both. Review if you can! 


	5. Chapter 5

Wordlessly I followed Holmes back into the home of Doctor Montand. We found the lady at the large desk in her front room, busily involved with a number of papers in front of her.  
  
"Apparently you are not overly concerned about the fact that your son is missing." Holmes said, walking over to her. She glanced up at him.  
  
"Nor are you, if you are more inclined to berate me on my attentions to my practice rather than attending to yours." She replied evenly. I began to see what Holmes had meant. Doctor Montand was truly fearless and in no way intimidated by my friend or his powers of deduction. But even now, looking upon the lovely woman, her features delicate and her frame small, I could not possibly comprehend that within that beautiful feminine exterior lay a mind that thought along the same lines as my misogynistic, calculating friend.  
  
"Touché, madam." Holmes finally said with a small smirk.  
  
"Have you found anything?"  
  
"John has had no entanglements within the village." Holmes said blandly. She sighed, leaning back in her chair.  
  
"I thought as much."  
  
"Think back, Doctor. Who among your patients visited in the days before John's disappearance? Was there anyone overly hostile towards you?"  
  
"No one comes to mind, other than the usual old crones."  
  
"Usual, Doctor Montand? Are you faced with hostile patients often?" I said, concerned. The lady smiled at me.  
  
"I am not entirely accepted within this community, Doctor Watson. There are those who resist my help and even vehemently oppose it. It is a societal perception that will never be fully cured, and I have made my fair share of enemies because of it." I noticed that whenever the lady spoke to me, her voice was soft, gentle, patient. Whenever she addressed Holmes, she was direct, clear, and focused. Clearly Holmes dictated much different behavior than she gave to the rest of the world. All while this exchange went on, Holmes paced about the room, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  
  
"Any new patients then? Ones whom you have never treated before?"  
  
"Three that I can recall. A Mrs. Bracken complaining of a chill, a Mr. Tableau seeking the set of a broken arm, and a seafaring gentleman named Olin in need of some stitches."  
  
"Did any of them meet or see John?" Holmes demanded. His questions were becoming more and more rapid-fire at the Doctor, but she stood her ground and patiently answered each one in detail.  
  
"The two gentlemen did. John played the piano for them as they waited for a consultation."  
  
"Describe them."  
  
"Mr. Tableau was a middle-aged gentleman of normal height, perhaps a little taller than John himself. He was well-spoken, polite, and not the least bit of trouble. Olin was a surly, gruff type, but he was not the most intelligent of men either and did not give me any grief."  
  
"Were they overly friendly? Did they address John?"  
  
"Nothing other than to comment on his performance. Both gentlemen had conversations with me about him, but nothing out of the ordinary."  
  
"But you have neither met nor treated either one of these men before?"  
  
"No. They are new both to the area and to my knowledge."  
  
"How do you know they are new to the area, madam?" I was not often able to get a word in between them, but when I did I kept receiving the lady's patient smiles. I began to think these were practiced, insincere, reserved for the normal citizens who did not run upon the same rails and she and Holmes did.  
  
"Doctor Montand knows this city inside and out Watson." Holmes answered quickly, obviously in a hurry to gain any lead he could.  
  
"I am aware of anything that happens within my radius of patients. Although these men were new to the area and unusually accepting of my doctoring, there was nothing to suggest that either of these men had any designs on my son." She added. Holmes sighed.  
  
"They are the only possibilities at this point. If you will excuse me, I shall go over the exterior of the house again. I may find something of interest." Holmes turned and charged out, full of purpose and energy. Doctor Montand and I were left alone.  
  
"Don't worry, madam. I am sure Holmes will do everything in his power to locate young John. After all, he is Holmes' son." Doctor Montand smiled.  
  
"You are aware then, of all the particulars. I must say I am quite glad of this. Forever having to make up parts of my life and act in a manner that was not truth was praying upon my already frayed nerves."  
  
"It is quite understandable, miss. Or perhaps I should say Missus?" I began to see this woman as what she legally was; Sherlock Holmes' wife. The lady raised an eyebrow at me.  
  
"If you don't mind my saying so, I must tell you that I've never met a woman more capable of being Holmes' wife." Doctor Montand laughed.  
  
"His wife? Doctor Watson, I am most certainly not that."  
  
"But in a legal sense-"  
  
"In a legal sense surely, but of what matter is that to me? Two signatures upon a piece of paper which, in 10 years time will lie yellowing and forgotten in a drawer of some dusty office. If you ever hear Mr. Holmes address me as Mrs. Holmes, it is in an entirely patronizing manner." I was somewhat taken aback by her easy, confident nature. I of course was surprised that any woman would think like Holmes, but more surprised that she would share these things with a new acquaintance.  
  
"Doctor Watson," She began, rising from her chair and clasping her hands together. "Do not strain your mind by looking for hidden affections and feelings that, I assure you, do not exist."  
  
"But Doctor, you and Holmes have a son together. A son who, I imagine, is quite well cherished." The lady smiled for a moment, looking off to the side as if recalling some distant memory.  
  
"That is a true enough statement. I love my son, and even though you have not had a chance to witness it, I assure you that Mr. Holmes would give up anything in the world for him." At this she snapped back to the present, her eyes looking directly into mine.  
  
"At one time he sought my company because I interested him as a practice in deduction. But as far as Mr. Holmes and myself are concerned, we are casual acquaintances, nothing more. His visits are for his son only."  
  
"You seem to have a clear cut understanding of each other however."  
  
"I will concede on that point. Mr. Holmes and I understand each other very well." She murmured simply, but I detected underlying tones beneath it. For a moment I thought myself still being an idealistic fool, but it was finally clear to me that while their relationship was certainly not the norm, nor any kind of relationship I could perceive, Holmes and Doctor Montand had a relationship of some kind. After all, with every visit to his son, Holmes was inevitably running into his legal wife.  
  
"Mr. Holmes," Doctor Montand said, both of us turning to observe Holmes himself walking into the room. He was staring down at his palm, poking at something that lay in it. "Have you found anything of interest?" Holmes held out his hand. Occupying it were a few reddish-brown flakes, the color of dark rust.  
  
"Paint off the house, Holmes?" Holmes shook his head.  
  
"That, Watson, is dried blood." Doctor Montand, while not visibly shocked, inhaled sharply.  
  
"If we consider the two suspects at the moment your two new patients, Doctor Montand, we can reason from this which of the two it was more likely to be." Holmes said, meeting her gaze. Doctor Montand said nothing.  
  
"One gentleman had a broken arm, the other some stitches needed. A broken arm is not likely to bleed, nor to aid a man in climbing down a wall of ivy. I believe the safest assumption is that our gruff sailor is the closest to a suspect at this moment." Holmes said this all as if he did not really believe what he was saying, a bland recitation that he had little or no faith in.  
  
"Assuming that is the blood of the man in question." Doctor Montand finally murmured.  
  
"It is quite recent." Holmes said.  
  
"Perhaps it could also be the blood of young John." I said in a low voice. Both Holmes and Doctor Montand glanced up at me. An uncomfortable silence followed as both stared at each other. Obviously this was not a possibility that had entered either one's mind, and I immediately regretted having posed the idea.  
  
I watched my friend's hand ball into a fist for a moment.  
  
"That is an unlikely possibility, but a possibility nonetheless." He said quietly.  
  
"Why not?" I asked gently. Even though this obviously caused pain to both, I felt it was important that each recognize the danger John Montand might ultimately be in.  
  
"Because he is not an ordinary youth." Holmes snapped. Apparently Holmes' slight over-confidence in himself and occasional egotism carried over into his opinion of his son.  
  
"Forgive me Holmes, but he is just a boy, and if he was carried off-"  
  
"The 'boy' that you speak of is already capable of speaking two languages, winning a fencing match, and could tell you that you are a retired army surgeon with a deceased wife and a penchant for bets. He would not allow himself to be carried anywhere, nor to be thus injured if he were." Holmes finished. I wanted to believe him, but part of me thought that perhaps his concern and pride in his son was blurring what his son was really like. The doorbell rang, and Doctor Montand lingered a moment before going to answer it.  
  
"I am not prone to allowing emotion to affect my judgment, Watson. When I say that my son is talented in many ways and would not allow himself to be injured if he could at all help it, I am speaking the literal truth." I nodded. I could believe him in that much.  
  
"You cannot deny that it may have happened anyways, Holmes." He nodded brusquely. Doctor Montand came back into the room, calm and collected. In a clear voice she spoke:  
  
"My previous patient, the sailor Olin is here. He says he may know John's whereabouts." At this she paused, her face twisting into disgust.  
  
"Depending on how much we are willing to pay." 


	6. Chapter 6

For a moment, the three of us stood there, paralyzed with how to confront the situation. Holmes' fact took on an indignant, insulted look, as if someone had just dealt a crushing blow to his ego.  
  
"A ransom?" He said, half incredulously and half in disgust.  
  
"To rush in angrily would be a fool's venture." Doctor Montand said, looking at him pointedly. Holmes made no reply and instead made his way to the Doctor's consulting room, the lady and I following him wordlessly. This kind of social interaction-the art of dealing with criminals- was one in which Holmes excelled.  
  
The man seated in the room looked entirely out of place amid the opulent surroundings. He was a primeval looking man, immense and rough, as though he were an unfinished sculpture. He was a typical dockyard worker, with the grime the job accumulated and the bulk it required. He sat there for a moment as we entered, looking overly pleased with himself.  
  
"Here now: Who are these fellows?" Holmes suddenly smiled at Olin's poorly masked panic.  
  
"Damn it all, woman, you interrupt my studies for a common sailor?" He said irritatedly to Doctor Montand. "Throw the chap out if he bothers you; why come to me?"  
  
"What in the name of-" Doctor Montand began, but instantly seemed to catch on to whatever in the name of heaven Holmes was doing, silencing herself before anymore words could escape her lips.  
  
I however, as usual, was left in the dark.  
  
"I won't be thrown out!" Holmes raised his chin slightly, looking disdainfully at the sailor.  
  
"What possible use could I have for another one of my wife's boorish patients? And a particularly filthy one too. No, no, Watson, get him out of here, as you are entirely unable to deal with him yourself, madam." Holmes proclaimed, waving his hand dismissively. Doctor Montand raised an eyebrow but still said nothing.  
  
"I'm no patient! I've a bit of information that might be of interest to you, sir." The man said, hungrily eying Holmes as he tossed a sovereign up and down in the air.  
  
"Information? On what? How to weigh anchor? You've set my dear Abigail here- and forgive me for speaking so plainly, dearest-into a veritable fit of panic, coupled by shrieks and tears and the normal feminine rubbish by some story of how my son is gone or some such." At this Doctor Montand looked murderously at Holmes.  
  
"But- your boy is gone." Olin said, scratching his head for a moment. Holmes took out his pocket watch, studying it idly.  
  
"Of course he's gone! The boy's always wandering off somewhere or another! I fail to see what this has to do with you, sir."  
  
"But he's missing, sir."  
  
"Missing?" Holmes said, as if the word was foreign to him. "Oh, then I see my wife has gotten to you." He added, glancing suspiciously at Doctor Montand, who had by now folded her arms in front of her, sending Holmes to the depths of hell with her gazes.  
  
"My dear wife is prone to panic and over dramatization. I fear her belief of my son being lost is merely a woman's over-active imagination. The boy will be back in time for supper, and you have still not adequately told me why you are in my house."  
  
"But- Tableau said-" The man muttered to himself. Holmes shook his head with a small triumphant smile. Doctor Montand had been partially correct- This sailor was by no means intelligent.  
  
"Where is this Tableau then? I've half a mind to take my irritation out on you rather than take the trouble of hunting whomever that fellow is down."  
  
"Oh, no trouble at all sir." The sailor stammered, putting on his cap and backing out of the room. "I wouldn't have bothered you sir, honest, had I thought there wasn't some money in it for me. Last I saw Mr. Tableau he was at the train station." With this, Olin ran out of the house, nearly tripping over his own two feet in his effort. Holmes gave Doctor Montand a winning smile.  
  
"I do apologize, Mrs. Holmes, but it could not be helped." He said in a tone that bespoke no amount of remorse but a good deal of mischievousness.  
  
"Your sincerity is overwhelming." The lady replied coolly.  
  
"May I ask, Holmes, exactly what the point of that display was?" I inquired.  
  
"That sorry excuse for a seaman is not John's captor." Holmes said, in a bit of outrage, as if I should have known that crucial fact all along. "I knew that the moment I saw that ape-like forehead and those oversized hands. No, Mr. Tableau, whomever or wherever he is, has John. At the very least he is a clever sort: sending the obvious villain to do the work of the real one." He rattled away, more to himself than to us, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.  
  
"I must confess, Mr. Holmes," Doctor Montand began, and I could see real anger permeating her features. "That I am not the slightest bit interested in the level of intelligence John's captor possesses, nor how he measures up in terms of the criminal profile."  
  
"You wouldn't be, madam. You may be more interested in the fact that I have obtained all my information without the loss of a single shilling." Holmes retorted. Doctor Montand's features took on a true transformation when she was genuinely upset. Her hair seemed to glow a bit more crimson, her eyes became darker, more like an angry brushfire than a soft green, and every delicate feature made a sharp line in her face.  
  
"Olin remarked that Mr. Tableau may be at the train station. If you continue to linger here, exchanging your obviously long-planned witty comments with me, I fear there will no longer be a son to get back, ransom or not." Her last words trembled, but she forced them out with an iron countenance. At these sobering words Holmes nodded and straightened up.  
  
"Do you think the boy is all right?" I asked Holmes gently as we began our speedy walk to the Gravesend train station.  
  
"If John is harmed, it is my fault in either instance."  
  
"What do you mean, either instance?"  
  
"Either I have underestimated his captor or overestimated my son." 


End file.
